Skink said, “Any sign of the warriors?”
“No, but I could see the lights of the main lodge at the top of a hill. I’m guessing it’s three-quarters of a mile from here.”
Twilly looped McGuinn’s leash over one ankle and sat down with a jug of water by the fire. The dog rested its chin on its paws, gazing up longingly at the sizzling meat.
“Still no brainstorm?” Skink inquired.
“Truth is, we ought to just shoot the fuckers.”
“It’s your call, son.”
“How about some input?” Twilly wanted the captain to assure him there was another way to save Toad Island, besides committing murder.
Instead Skink said, “I’ve tried everything else and look where it’s got me.”
“You’re just tired is all.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
They ate in restive silence, the night settling upon them like a dewy gray shroud. Even McGuinn inched closer to the fire. Twilly thought of Desie—he missed her, but he was glad she wasn’t with him now.
“I propose we sleep on it.” Skink, crunching on the last curl of snake.
Twilly shook his head. “I won’t be sleeping tonight.”
“We could always just snatch ’em, I suppose.”
“Yeah.”
“Make a political statement.”
“Oh yeah. Just what the world needs,” Twilly said.
“Plus, hostages are a lot of work. You’ve gotta feed ’em and take ’em to the John and wash their dirty underwear so they don’t stink up the car. And listen to all their goddamn whining, sweet Jesus!” Skink laughed contemptuously.
“On the other hand,” Twilly said, “if we kill them, then the entire Federal Bureau of Investigation will be chasing us. That’s not a happy prospect.”
The ex-governor pried loose his glass eye and tossed it to Twilly, who held it up before the fire. The thing appeared surreal and distant, a glowering red sun.
“Beats a plain old patch,” Skink said, swabbing the empty socket.
Twilly handed the prosthetic eye back to him. “What do you think they’ll be hunting tomorrow?”
“Something big and slow.”
“And when it’s over, they’ll gather around the fireplace, drink a toast to the dead animal and then get down to business. Make their greedy deal and shake hands. And that gorgeous little island on the Gulf will be permanently fucked.”
“That’s how it usually goes.”
“I can’t sit still for that, captain.”
Skink tugged off his boots and placed them next to the binoculars case. In a pocket of his rain suit he found a joint, which he wedged into his mouth. He lowered his face to the edge of the flames until the end of the doobie began to glow.
“Son, I can’t sit still for it, either,” he said. “Never could. Want a hit?”
Twilly said no thanks.
“You ever licked toads to get high?” Skink asked.
“Nope.”
“Don’t.”
Twilly said, “I should warn you, I’m not much of a shot.”
“Maybe you won’t have to be.” Skink dragged heavily on the joint. “All kinds of bad shit can happen to foolish men in the woods.”
“Still, a plan would be helpful.”
“It would, son.”
Twilly stretched out, using McGuinn as a pillow. The rhythmic rise and fall of the dog’s chest was soothing. Skink dumped water on the fire, and the aroma of wood smoke mingled sweetly with the marijuana.
“What time is it, Governor?”
“Late. You get some rest, we’ll figure something out.”
“They’ve got more guns than we do.”
“That’s undoubtedly true.”
The Labrador stirred slightly beneath Twilly’s head, and he reached up to scratch the dog’s chin. One of McGuinn’s hind legs started to kick spasmodically.
Twilly said, “There’s him to consider, too.”
“No need to bring him along. We can tie him to a tree, where he’ll be safe.”
“And what happens to him if we don’t make it back?”
The captain exhaled heavily. “Good point.”
Twilly Spree fell asleep and had another dream. This time he dreamed he was falling. There was a bullet hole in his chest, and as he fell he leaked a curlicued contrail of blood. Far below him were a break of green waves and a long white beach, and in the sky all around him were the seabirds, falling at the same velocity; lifeless clumps of bent feathers and twisted beaks. Somewhere above was the faint, fading sound of a helicopter. In the dream Twilly snatched wildly at the falling gulls until he got one. Clutching the broken bird to his breast, he plummeted in a clockwise spin toward the beach. He landed hard on his back, and was knocked momentarily senseless. When he awoke, Twilly glanced down and saw that the gull had come to life and flown away, out of his hands. It was dark.